


new boss

by soulshrapnel



Series: Villainous Kinktober fills 2020 [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Human Furniture, Intimidation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26775769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulshrapnel/pseuds/soulshrapnel
Summary: Grand Moff Tarkin needs to get Project Stardust back on schedule. His way of introducing himself to the project's chief scientist is... unorthodox.(Kinktober, Day 2: Human Furniture)
Relationships: Orson Krennic/Wilhuff Tarkin
Series: Villainous Kinktober fills 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947379
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	new boss

Galen Erso stopped short as the door to Director Krennic's office swished open. He considered backing away. He knew he'd been summoned here to meet with Krennic's superior about Project Stardust's newest phase of development, but this... this couldn't be right.

Grand Moff Tarkin, pinched and gray-haired and perfectly uniformed, was sitting in Krennic's big command chair. No surprises there; Galen knew who it was that had summoned him. He knew a fair number of things about Tarkin from the news, from the resentful and envious way Krennic talked about him, from the gossip that made its way even to a research facility as isolated as Eadu. He knew Tarkin wasn't a man to be trifled with. He knew this meeting would be unpleasant; Galen had long ago stopped caring about mere unpleasantness. It was his due. It didn't matter, as long as he could keep working to have his own long-awaited revenge.

It was Tarkin's way of sitting there that brought Galen up short. Tarkin was uncharacteristically relaxed, leaning back in his chair, with his feet up. He had crossed his feet at the ankles, jackboots and all, where they rested.

They were resting on Director Krennic's back.

Krennic was crouched there on his hands and knees, keeping his back level. From the doorway, his face wasn't visible. He was fully dressed in his usual uniform, complete with the white cape. Regardless of how Krennic felt about it, he was holding perfectly still, compliant with his new role as, apparently, a footrest.

Galen was an experienced man, and he had heard of arrangements like these. His first thought, after a moment of blank incomprehension, was that this might be an intimate moment for the two of them; perhaps he was intruding.

He cleared his throat. "Governor Tarkin, sir - did you summon me? I could come back later."

Tarkin looked at Galen, giving him a quick once-over, and then made a beckoning motion. "No, you're right on time. Galen Erso, I presume?"

Galen obediently stepped into the office, and the door swished shut behind him. "Yes, sir."

He understood the message Tarkin intended to send by arranging this. It was not exactly subtle. By the standards of the Empire, which measured strength in a certain way, Tarkin wanted to make it clear that he was stronger than Krennic. Regardless of what Krennic wanted, this project was thoroughly his now.

Orson Krennic was a foul tyrant who'd taken Galen's family away and made his life a misery for years. Galen spent his days pretending to be a broken man, but it did not take great acting ability to let himself flinch when the Director drew near. T here was something good about seeing Krennic brought low, reduced to furniture. Galen might have been tempted to feel grateful for that, if only out of spite. To want to please this new master.

But he wasn't, because Galen was sharp enough to catch the rest of the message.

By the standards of the Empire, Tarkin was stronger than Krennic.

Which meant Tarkin was _worse._

"As you know," said Tarkin, "under Krennic's direction, this project hasn't met its milestones as swiftly as expected. I've been assigned to get you back on track."

Galen swallowed and nodded. There was one saving grace to the role of a broken man: nobody ever expected him to say something clever. He only had to look sad and afraid and obey.

"What would you have me do?" he asked, looking at the floor. Definitely the floor, and not the way Krennic's cape had bunched and discolored under the weight of Tarkin's boots.

In his peripheral vision, Tarkin's smile only widened.


End file.
